I Don't Want to Talk About Anything But Laptops.

**I wrote this at 11:30 last night in bed. I thought I hit publish before I closed down. Ha! I didn't! I hit save instead! Apparently, I need more sleep and less wine. Shocker.**

1) Billy came home on tonight, and we went through our nightly ritual where I sit on the bed fucking around with my laptop, finding something - anything - that will keep me on the internet as long as possible, and he changes from work clothes into pajamas.

His disrobing routine is always the same, too. Tie first (of course), then he unbottons his shirt, revealing the white t-shirt underneath. He then takes the button down shirt off, examines it (I don't know why he does that, exactly), then takes it over to the laundry hamper.

Tonight, he took said shirt to said hamper, went to throw the shirt in and stopped. The blue button-down hovered in mid-air, and he looked at me. "Uh, babe? What are we doing with all of these clothes here?"

"They're dirty," I said, refusing to look up from my hotmail inbox, which I was refreshing for the eighteenth time. "I have to wash them."

He didn't move. "What?" I said, finally looking up. "You have, like, a million more shirts right there in the closet. You have plenty of things to wear." I know how many shirts he has, because all of those shirts are taking up closet space that could be mine. So I am acutely aware of just how many shirts he has, and even MORE aware of how many of those shirts he doesn't wear.

The look he gave me suggested he was disgusted that I've waited this long (a week) to do some laundry. Not disgusted enough to do any laundry himself, but disgusted nonetheless.

2) For no less than two weeks, I have had a leaf stuck to the antenna of my car. It's a little baby leaf, who died before its prime, just wrapped around my antenna like they're in love or something. I keep expecting it to blow off, but it just never does. And every time I see it there while I'm driving, I make a mental note to pluck it from my antenna as soon as I park. But I never remember. And even though I've obviously remembered right now, I'm in bed, face washed and clothes off, so you can pretty much bet on the fact that my ass is not going anywhere.

3) My ass should, however, probably be downstairs right now. Because Billy is down there with some family and some friends. And what am I doing? That's right: Laying in bed with the lights off, a glass of wine on the nightstand, cigarettes next to me, laptop on my, uh, lap, fucking around on the computer. And I'd better not hear any shit about it. Because I TOLD him that getting me a laptop pretty much sealed the deal when it came to me never leaving the bedroom.

4) Is it wrong that I don't want to talk to anyone right now? Even Billy? I don't know why...But I DO know that speaking to anyone in a way that does not involve a keyboard is out of the question. Because speaking, actually having a conversation with someone right now, could be dangerous.

5) I don't know why, but I'm extremely bitchy right now. It could be the fact that I haven't gone to bed before one in the morning for the past three nights, yet still had to get up before seven every morning. Which, I know, to some of you young whipper-snappers out there seems like a good night's sleep, but for ME? Not so much. It's like torture. So I'm cranky and tired and dying to go to sleep, yet I'm still fucking around on my laptop. Go figure.

6) I have to go to bed.